Gone
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: It's Liam Jones' birthday and Captain Killian Jones is aboard the Jolly Rodger, drinking rum to make the pain go away, as he does every year on his brother's birthday. Emma Swan finds him, alone and drunk, and attempts to uncover the truth and comfort him. - Takes place in Season four, before anything to do with Rumple and his darkness taking him over. Complete.


**Hello! I seem to be taking a break from Pirate Ship at the moment but I think that's because I've been watching way too much of Once Upon A Time to avoid writing things based on it. I'm still confident about Pirate Ship but I need to just get back into routine of writing instead of thinking. The next chapter _will come soon._**

 **For now, enjoy this oneshot I wrote about Killian and his loss of his brother and how it haunts him.**

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The bitter taste of alcohol quenched his thirst for pain. A more than despotic way to make up for the dullness that raced through his veins. He was becoming fond of the pain that the liquid caused. It distracted him from the brief moments when the nothingness would return and transform into an ache. He could verify a reason for drinking copious amounts of rum.

The vengeful alcohol left a warmth in his stomach and he had to keep supplying it. The rum had to keep coming otherwise he would turn cold.

His throat was thick and clogged, only to be unlocked by relentless alcohol, burning away the inclement of grief. The thickness that constricted him, made him swallow more often and gave away his emotions.

His mouth and tongue protested the audacious sting, but he didn't care. This new perpetrator of pain eviscerated his insides, but it was stronger than the ache that he wanted rid of. The fiery substance sailed down his esophagus, choking him on the way down. Sending him into fits of coughing and waves of dizziness.

Stench of the liquor blended with his musty scent aided in combating the vexing loneliness that often overpowered him on these days in particular. The need to scream into the deafening silence that surrounded him, voice hoarse from lack of use and abuse of the intoxicant. Apoplectic fits of grief that came sporadically, lying face down on the dust of the floorboards of his ship, in his quarters. Curled as small as he can, he took every beating that the hallucinations offered, knowing this was what he deserved. Every way they could hurt him, they did.

 _Happy birthday to you_

Killian murmured the words along with the visions of his family, his raspy voice barely more than a breath. The faint tune taunted him, daring him to sing along.

 _Happy birthday to you_

 _Happy birthday to Liam_

 _Happy birthday to you_

His brother's name sent a chill from his skin to his muscles and to the rest of his body, bringing the sprouting of goosebumps that always came. If Liam knew him now, he would never understand what had happened to Killian after his death and what turned him from the kind and virtuous man to this ruthless pirate. How the rum had first come to touch his lips, a sure sign of bad form, which Killian had so completely reprimanded. How that satanic liquid had become the basis of this new personality; tainted by the pirate's life. How he drank whenever an inkling of less than 'okay' emotion came to befall him, and in moments of strife, and in times of humor.

Whenever the painful memory of his loss came back to haunt him.

After half a bottle, he could usually still remain standing, his hand palmed at the wall, gradually curling into an unforgiving fist. His mind wandered easily on the first half, causing him strain but not enough to condemn him to the floor of his ship. Thoughts didn't venture as far to the treacherous parts that he tried to forget. A half more and he could no longer avoid those thoughts, of his losses. That was usually what brought on new levels of precipitous plight.

And also how he began his decline from standing by the wall to sitting on the floor, bottle in his hand and slowly getting warmer with the alcohol pumping around inside of him.

Killian's first date with rum was three months after his brother had passed, when one of his fellow pirates coerced him into drinking it, near egging him on when they claimed that they were pirates now and no longer sailors and they would have to eventually succumb to a life of piracy. Good form didn't matter anymore. Liam was _dead._ _Dead, dead, dead._ They were pirates now. Liam wouldn't mind. Killian was the Captain and his brother was gone. Liam would be okay with it.

At the time, Killian had been struck by the hand of grief and took the small shot glass anyway, nodding to the sailor. He couldn't object. He had to be this man. He had to fight against the thoughts of good form and had to be a pirate. A pirate who drank and pillaged and plundered the seven seas. A pirate who was unforgiving and relentless. A pirate who fought and laughed in the faces that expressed fear. He had to embrace the path that had been forced upon him, with vengeance and loss.

Despite what this sailor had said, all of those decades ago, Killian knew that Liam would not accept this bad form. He may not have seen it at the time, but he knew now as soon as he remembered his brother truly, back in Neverland. He knew that his form had not been good for many decades. Rum while sailing. Rum while eating. Rum while engaging in conversation. Rum, rum, rum. What would Liam even think of him now... Would he even accept him as his brother?

Killian knew the answer. Probably not.

But maybe he was just torturing himself with these thoughts.

He had fought for revenge throughout his hundreds of years at sea, revenge of the King who had sent them on that mission, and revenge of Rumpelstiltskin who had broken his heart by crushing his love's heart in front of him. On that day, Killian had seen nothing but pain. Then again, it was nothing compared to the pain he had felt when the poison seeped into his brother's heart, killing him.

Liam would be disgusted of the way Killian had conducted himself over the years that Liam had been gone. Disappointed. And that's the worst part of it all. The disappointment. When disappointment was such an emotional word, connected to expectation. Expectation as well as hope, which was now such a prominent part of his life. Hope. It was difficult to avoid hope with the people he concerned himself with. Snow White and Prince Charming. Their life was completely made up of hope and miracles.

Liam would be hurt raw by the path Killian had taken to finally find this hope.

Killian, lying in the rough cotton pants and dark blue shirt he had adopted since his date with Emma, the leather jacket removed when he turned feverishly warm earlier on in the evening.

Even after the 200 years or so at sea, Killian Jones had never forgotten, and will never forget, the day he turned away from good form and the royal flag, to the group of rapscallions that he accommodated himself with so readily. The day his brother died and Killian wrapped him in the white sheet and sent him plunging to the bottom of the ocean. Where Killian could not follow, even if he wanted to. Where his brother would never and could never come back from.

After the first 100 years, he was surprised that he remembered his brother's birthday, without fail. He supposed he must unconsciously think of his brother every day and how certain aspects reminded him of the man he was and the man his brother was.

However, the face of his father seldom entered his mind except on this day, when he allowed himself to fully contemplate his pittance of a family. If he thought of Liam in his entirety, he knew that his father's face would appear, so he allowed him to join. He knew that if tried to ban his father from his thoughts, the nightmares would only be so much more painful. It would be harder to keep that man out of his head. Killian didn't care much for his father, but there was still a microscopic part of him that would want his approval.

Unfortunately, even when he thought of the pair of them, all he saw were disappointed faces, sneering and snarling at him. Liam's face broke his heart the hardest, bones splintering and veins rupturing as the pain returned at the sight of his features, scrunched in distaste. Killian's heart thumped loudly in his ears.

In the moments when the monsters came for him, he had lost all of his confidence and the defenses against his echoing memories of death, plaguing him. Balmy air suffocated him in the cabin. That was another positive of the rum. It was cool on his lips, despite the warmth it left in his stomach. Arduous hour after arduous hour of refreshing and regretting. Both warmth and cool.

Killian was drunk. Unmistakably so.

His words slurred as he tried and tried to get the monsters to stop, his utters soon turning to shouts as the monsters' hands grew into gnarled tree branches, wrapped around his neck. Their eyes filled in with black, hollow. They shook him, shouting his name in leering voices. Shouted over and over, but Killian wanted the voices to stop. He didn't want to listen to them anymore. He wanted the rum to just finish the job and send him to harrowing nightmares that would turn to pleasant dreams when his father and brother were alive and both still good men. Not that his brother was ever any less than a good man.

He wanted to go back 200 years to the nights when they would take a boat onto the deep blue lake, pretending to be sailors. Before the times they ventured onto the great expanse of ocean on their doorstep.

There was a considerable bang and a voice that called out to him, seemingly separate from the hallucinations as Killian reached for the bottle again, preparing for the dreams that would come next. The bottle was snatched away from him. He snarled at the perpetrator, reaching for the bottle, vision blurry with drunkenness and clumps of cold liquid by his eyes.

Had he spilled the rum?

"Hey, stop it!" shouted the voice as Killian threw out his arms. But Killian was no longer reaching for the bottle. He was protecting his face from the blows which his father was about to bring upon him. "Hey, no!" Cold water was thrown in his face. It couldn't be the rum, it didn't smell of anything. The hallucinations dulled slightly, his family becoming smoky and no way near as clear. "Hook!"

He faltered at the name. His name. His brother would not know it. His father would not remember, the selfish bastard.

Confusion set in, instead. There were no other dead people who would know that name _and come back_. Especially on this day. He could think of many people who had called that name as their last word, as his sword had left them tumbling to his deck, on their knees to him, praising him in their deaths. They all fell forward, as if he were a messiah. It made him feel powerful.

At least it used to.

"Leave me be!" Killian cried out, stretching out on the floor and curling back in again. He was unsure of whether he was talking to the voice or the spirit it might bring or the hallucinations that were slipping in and out of his vision, of clarity.

"I'm sorry, okay, just listen. Listen to me, Killian. To my voice. Concentrate on my voice." The voice was soft and gentle and he attempted to listen to it, to pin it down to a person, to a face. It was feminine. Could it be Milah, coming back to haunt him? As she sometimes did? Maybe she would abhor him for falling in love with Emma Swan, and how quickly and easily it had happened. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry Milah, my love, I didn't mean to," he whimpered, not daring to focus his eyes to look at her. "Please forgive me." He didn't want to see the scowl on her face that he barely remembered. But then he thought about it. Milah had only known him as Captain Jones or as Killian, not as Hook. Gods rest her soul, she had not seen him become the villain, a hook instead of a hand. She had died before his hand was cut from him.

It didn't make sense. He would have to focus his eyes, but he really didn't want to. The confusion made him angry.

He focused for a moment or two, seeing a blonde woman kneeling in front of him. Then his bright blue eyes gave up and black and white squares crossed his vision, turning purple. His brother reappeared, the faint tune of 'Happy Birthday' emanating in a sinister hum. Killian batted away the image, failing to rid Liam from his sight. He wasn't so sure of the visions anymore. Although they were recognizable, they were twisted.

"It's not Milah, just listen, open your eyes, and look at me." Her voice was so calm and so sure and so real. He didn't want Emma Swan here. He didn't want to be instructed by the down and dusky blonde. What the bloody hell was she thinking, waltzing in here and suddenly decided that he needed to be okay? Sure, he was being childish and petulant. It didn't matter, he didn't care.

He allowed himself to suffer for this 24 hours, once a year. He wanted to. Then he would have the rest of the year to ignore the pain and he could flirt with Emma Swan and not feel guilty. He could teach Henry how to sail the seven seas, and he could torment the Crocodile, despite them being some sort of family now. He would think of Liam only in the back of his mind and not at all like this. Rum would not be abused in the same way.

"Leave me the bloody hell alone!" Killian shouts at the woman, suddenly furious at her for interrupting his isolation. He reached for the bottle again, sure that it would rid him of the woman as he would fall unconscious. He knew how this day usually went. He had already had a bottle and a half, and he knew that another half would certainly send him to the sand-man's world. He met a force, stronger than his in his drunken state.

"Just open your eyes, please look at me."

No. He didn't want to. He fought hard against the grip that was holding him back from the bottle which he knew was inches away. He could feel its presence so close to him. Alas, he couldn't break away from this soft voice and her force over him. It was impossible.

"Please, Killian," she asked quietly, somehow louder than the buzzing in his head. "Please, just look at me."

The voice was comforting, but distorted. He wanted to lay there, the warmth of the rum inhabiting his stomach and the soothing voice whisking him away to faraway lands where he no longer had to think about anything.

Killian Jones was scared of opening his eyes. Killian Jones was tired, and dizzy and drunk and scared.

If he opened his eyes, he might be greeted with the face of his father or his brother, forming around the thoughts in his mind. They were in his head, he knew that. That meant that they had access to his thoughts, his darkest fears. Fears and thoughts that only appeared after he had drank copious amounts of alcohol and enabled himself to think such things. When he took down the block he had that hid his father and his brother mostly from the rest of his conscious self.

Most of all, he didn't want to see those people, his family and his Milah, wearing the faces they had worn as he held each one of them in death.

"Killian, it's just you and me. No one else. I promise you."

So she could see that he was struggling, his hand faltering in the reach for the bottle. The name of his brother on his lips, the tune still ringing in his ears, echoing in his mind, like he was an empty cavern. His entire body was cold and his eyelids fluttered as he thought about it. This woman, why would she tell the truth? But why would she lie? If it was Emma then she would not lie to him. Not anymore, at least.

He felt a warmth on his cheek and his hand fell to the floor beside him, his head curled into his chest. That way he could avoid her. Nevertheless, he knew that he could not avoid her, not while she was here. She was stubborn, Emma Swan. More stubborn than anyone he had ever met. Elsa had described her as prickly, but she wasn't that. She just knew exactly what she wanted and saw ways to get it. She was blunt.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes. After a few moments of blurriness, his vision cleared and there she was, red jacket and all, kneeling beside him on the dusty floor of his ship, her eyes concerned and her hair fallen across her face, the rum bottle clasped in one hand, and the other resting on his cheek. She smiled sadly at him, taking her hand away from his face and brief moments of relief flooding only in her eyes.

"Leave me alone Swan, and give me that damned bottle," he said harshly. She was taken aback by his words and his tone, but he did it for a reason. She should not see him like this. Emma Swan was for fun moments, not for times such as these. She was for moments of flirtation and of adventure, not of quiet, drunken nights spent on his pirate ship, wishing he was either dead or at least unconscious.

"No, you're going to tell me what's going on. When you're sober and are back to yourself, then I'll leave. As you are, I'm not leaving. No chance in hell." Bloody stubborn Swan, he thought exasperated. He would not tell her anything, for as long as he could avoid it. She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't see him this way. "I'm here now so you might as well get on with it and spit it out." She was reasoning with him but he wasn't in the mood for reasoning.

"I'd rather you weren't here," Killian said through gritted teeth because, of course, it was a lie. And he knew that Emma would be able to tell immediately, especially if she was abusing her superpower. Quietly, he was glad that she had come for him, even though he permitted himself this day. He was glad that she hadn't left yet and that he wouldn't have to be alone. His crew knew not to come near him as he often demanded it and they knew what would happen if they did. They never disturbed him.

Not that he had seen much of his crew in this strange world, other than his faithful rat of a first mate, Mr Smee.

Killian rolled onto his back, away from Emma, glaring at her as if forcing her to go away with his eyes. He was not about to look weak in front of her, not ever. She stared back at him, confused.

"Well go then!" He shouted in her face. Something hard hit him in the side of the face and he recoiled, a white hot pain spreading across his cheeks. Emma had hit him. Killian looked up at her from where he leaned against the wall, his mind travelling at break-neck speeds as he tried to register everything that was happening. The visions of his family were completely gone now in the shock caused by the hit. He couldn't understand. Anger raged through him. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

His voice was deadly. Cold. He sniffed, scowling at her.

How dare she intrude on him? It wasn't her right to come in. This was his ship and she had no reason to be here.

"You were being an ass." She said it so simply, as if were a fact of life. Killian was, once again, taken aback by her bluntness. It just vexed him even more. How was he being an ass, he was upset! It's his brother's birthday for Chris sakes and he just wanted a damn gulp more of the damn rum so he could fall into a restless slumber but not have to consciously think any more about any of it.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, love," he said, coldly. "For breaking your delicate heart."

If Emma Swan was going to forgive him for being an ass, he knew that she wouldn't forgive him any more for this. For insinuating that she is breakable and delicate and anything other than the powerful and independent woman that she was. She, instead, replied with a colder tone than his, sending shivers to his heart.

"My heart is not delicate and it definitely is not broken." She was clipped. She paused before saying the next thing, still on her knees in front of him, but not the same Emma she was five minutes ago, begging for him to join her in the conscious world. She had begged. She had cared, and now she didn't. Killian had ruined that, like he ruined and tarnished everything that came into his vicinity. "What's the matter with you? Why are you being like this?"

Killian knew he had to tell her something, anything. He knew he wasn't being fair to her, but the alcohol spoke through him now and he had no filter against the harsh words that filled his mind. If he could help it, he would avoid telling her anything about Liam, or thinking about him now that she was there, with him. He would have to be careful. He cursed the thought. He cursed Emma. She had broken the spell that he had been in and he would now get nightmares more frequently of his brother. He had enough experience to know this.

"I'm a pirate love. We're not known for being nice." He smirked at her, without really smiling at all. The mask was plastered safely on his face, a mask of indifference. Unfortunately, his dark thoughts slipped out. There was no way to stop them once they had been spoken. "It's not like you give a damn about me anyway, Swan."

"Hey, that's not true!" she protested, glowering. Killian remained indifferent, staying where he was, close to shrugging his shoulders despite the almost hurt look on Emma's face. This beautiful woman who he loved, and he was completely ignoring her attempts. Emma had this coldness to her eyes now, all relief dissipated and turned a grey-green. She stood up, taking the rum with her. Killian couldn't help himself, couldn't stop himself, from calling out after her.

"Oh no," he said, his voice stained with satire. "Don't go!" He smirked to himself, furious with his self. He gritted his teeth to prevent him from saying another word. But life was just not that simple. He shouted as she paused at the door, trying to cover up the hurt that was evident on her face. "Great!" He laughed. She turned away from him and slammed the bottle of rum down on the side cabinet at the door. "Another bloody person leaving me dying in the dust! Quite literally with you, love."

His voice broke. It wasn't his fault. The truth in his words made it so. The truth in his words broke him. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have gritted his teeth harder. He should never have said anything to her other than the sarcasm he intended.

It had obviously hurt her, the words he had said. He knew that. Killian Jones was heartless. But he wasn't. And so she stopped in the doorway. And so she turned back to him, confusion in her eyes. He was slumped against the wall, his head in his hands, realizing his mistake and clearly frustrated with his self for it.

"What did you say?" Emma asked him. He didn't say anything for fear of what he could reveal. "Killian, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me _exactly_ what's going on." Still nothing. "Is this about me? Or is this something different?"

Suddenly he couldn't stop himself from being irrefutably outraged at her. He didn't want to say out loud so he mumbled, sure that she wouldn't hear. He just had to get it out. Had to spit it out and say something, anything.

"I always have this one day."

"What's today?" she asked immediately. Bloody Swan. Bloody, perfect Swan. Hearing and knowing everything there is and wanting in on every bloody thing there is, so she can wage in. Bloody Swan the Sheriff. Bloody beautiful, intelligent, Swan.

"For Chris sakes. How the bloody hell can you hear that?" He asked, shouting. Confused. Blinded by his displeasure. He slammed his palm against the study floorboards of the Jolly and smashed his head into the boards behind him. The pain didn't matter, not for now. He had to get rid of Swan so he wouldn't tell her anything. He didn't want to tell her. He wanted to lay down with her and his rum and just forget about the whole thing all over again. Today was a day for both remembering and forgetting.

"I'm Vulcan," Emma said, monotonous. Killian is completely confused. Did she mean a falcon? He had never heard of a Vulcan. A Vulcan... Had she been on the drink? Or was he slurring even her words, now? "It doesn't matter. What's today?" She began walking towards him again. He noticed that she didn't pick up the rum on her way over to him, back to kneeling before him, staring at the hand that he had slammed into the floor.

He knew that look in her eyes, and he knew how unbelievably stubborn she was. He would have to tell her otherwise she would certainly squeeze it out of him and he might say more horrible things to her which he would regret. And then end up hating himself for, even more. But he could hold off a few minutes, gain any amount of composure before his walls would be torn down by the beautiful woman in front of him. Desperately, he tried to prepare himself for the words that came next, trying to overcome the fear that halted his speech for the moment. He couldn't lie to Emma and, sadly, that meant that he could not withhold the truth. He was a hero now, not a liar or a villain. Emma had shown him that.

"It's his birthday."

Eventually the words came out, choked and barely audible. Killian bowed his head, to keep his eyes away from Emma's.

"Whose?"

Of course she would ask that. It's Emma Swan. She always asked more questions. No matter the cost.

"Liam's."

The name was the most difficult of all of the things he had said so far. It made everything seem so much more real. Sure, he had been saying his brother's name in his head, but that was far different from saying it out loud. He may have been thinking about what Liam would say to him and how he would react to the man that Killian had become.

Killian watched Emma as she stood up. For a painful moment, he thought that she was going to leave him, having got her new information. But she didn't. Instead, she sighed and then knelt down beside him, pulling him into her side. It was an awkward position but he didn't mind. Emma was here and Emma was here _for him_.

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she murmured, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and squeezing lightly. She stroked gently with her thumb and rested her head on his, her long, blonde hair tickling his forehead. There was a silence between them and neither wanted to break it. Killian felt himself calming down with her beside him, the silence comforting. He no longer yearned for the rum to end his miserable day. He just wanted a drink.

And just like that, everything came flooding out in an apology.

"I'm sorry Emma. It's the rum. I always do this." He paused. "So in the morning I can blame the rum for everything I thought and did and said."

"It's okay," she said, swallowing. Alas, Killian knew that it wasn't. No way.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry for shouting." The words were difficult. Killian Jones was not a man used to apologizing and he did not accept defeat. In this case, he had to. He did not want to lose this beautiful woman beside him.

"It's okay as long as you understand that I will always shout back at you."

"Of course love. I'd expect nothing less." There was another long silence before Killian spoke up again. As soon as he said the words, he knew he shouldn't have. "Can I have my rum now?"

"No chance in hell."

It was a shame but Killian smirked anyway and as did Emma. He was much calmer for her being there, despite still being haunted by the ghosts of his past, of his loss and the fiery vengeance that had occupied his every waking thought for so long. They were disappearing, though. Emma made him a better man and he knew that this would continue for as long as they were together. After that, he didn't dare to think what would happen to him.

Centuries more of chasing losses that cannot be undone.

The death of his brother made him a pirate, someone who wanted revenge so turned to piracy to show that he was no longer confined by his previous employer and that he would not work for a King who was so lacking in honor. The death of his love, Milah, had turned him into a villain, acting on his vengeance in the cruel world she abandoned him in.

But Emma Swan. She made him a hero.

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 **I know this one was a little bit odd and definitely far too long for what it was, but I hope you like it anyway. And a very Merry Christmas to you all!**

 **Read and review? Please? Let me know if you want more of the same thing?**


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